A twinge of concern formed in Mary’s mind as Annie failed to respond. She walked round in front of her and bent down to see her face

The stallholder asked Nancy: “An’ how would ye like a bonnie wee orange?” Nancy nodded gleefully as Mr McQueen rubbed the mandarin against his apron before handing it to the child. “You spoil her, Mr McQueen,” laughed Mary. “An’ she’s well worth it.” Nancy thanked him nicely and clutched the juicy orange with both hands.

As they continued on their way, Mary became aware of the figure in front of her. There was no mistaking the swing of Joe Cassiday’s kilt as he strode up Princes Street.

She quickened her step. “Mr Cassiday,” she called. “Joe.”

The kilt stopped swinging as Joe turned to see Mary hurrying towards him. “It’s me, Mary Dawson.” Joe grinned. “And little Miss Dawson too, I believe,” he replied, ruffling Nancy’s curls. “And where might you two lovely ladies be going this frosty morning?” Nancy giggled and hid her face behind Mary’s skirt. “To visit Annie,” Mary told him. “She’s not been very well. I think it’s just the pregnancy but…”

“Pregnancy?” Joe echoed. “You didn’t tell me she was pregnant.”

Mary hesitated. “I did tell you she was married, didn’t I…?”

Joe let out a deep breath. “You did, yes, you did but pregnant…”

Mary felt deflated. She had liked Joe Cassiday but it was obvious now where his feelings lay.

She grasped Nancy’s hand. “C’mon Nancy,” she murmured. “We need to be going.”

Feisty

Joe stepped in front of her, barring her way forward. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to shout, it wasn’t your fault… I just felt…”

His voice trailed off. In truth, he didn’t know how he felt.

Mary’s feisty spirit took over. “Well, if you’ll excuse us,” she said in clipped tones. “Me and Nancy are in a hurry.”

Joe was left bewildered in her wake, his emotions jangling and any thoughts of a reconciliation with Annie firmly quashed.

Mary’s face was flushed with the exertion of the climb up Albert Street to Maryfield as she and Nancy arrived finally at Annie’s home. The close leading to the varnished wooden front door was hushed and pristine and Mary was conscious of their footsteps insulting the silence.

She began to tiptoe up the flight of stairs. A stainedglass window cast its colours on to the steps as they wound round the central pillar.

“Now you be a good girl,” she warned Nancy. “And only speak when you’re spoken to.”

Nancy’s eyes widened as her mother’s mood began to affect her. Mary tapped softly on Annie’s door. There was no reply.

“Perhaps she’s gone for the messages,” she whispered to Nancy.

A noise from behind the door indicated that she had not. “Who is it?” said Annie’s voice. Mary brightened. “It’s me… Mary. Open the door.” There was silence. “Annie,” she called again. “It’s Mary and Nancy. Come to see you.”

The key turned in the lock and the door slowly opened. “You’d better come in.” Mary ushered Nancy inside the dimness of the hallway and closed the door behind her. “It’s bitter out there,” she announced, removing Nancy’s hat and gloves. “They say it’ll be snowing before the day’s out.”

Concern

She removed her own outdoor things and hung her coat and scarf on the hall stand. “I hope I hear you putting the kettle on,” she called through to the kitchen into which Annie had disappeared. She steered Nancy towards the door.

Annie was sitting with her back to them as they entered the warm room.

“And how’s my favourite sister?” Mary asked, kissing the top of her head and squeezing her shoulders. A twinge of concern formed in Mary’s mind as Annie failed to respond. She walked round in front of her and bent down to see her face. “Annie,” she queried. “Is something wrong?” The bruising on Annie’s face could not be hidden as she raised her head to face her sister.

For a moment, Mary froze as she surveyed Annie’s damaged features. “Annie! What’s happened?” She took her hands and held them tightly as Annie’s chin began to quiver.

“It’s nothing,” she managed to whisper. “I fell.”

“Fell?” Mary echoed. “When?” Annie tried to control her distress. “Last night,” she murmured. “I fell out of bed.”

Mary’s concern was heightened as she realised Annie wasn’t telling the truth. She pulled up a chair beside her. “Tell me the truth, Annie Pepper. What happened?”

Annie gave in to the tears. “Oh, Mary,” she sobbed. “It was Alex. He’s been beating me.”

Mary felt a wave of disbelief and anger wash over her. “Alex did this?” Annie nodded. Mary looked anxiously at her sister. “But why?” “Cause, I made him do it,” Annie answered, her voice barely audible.

Mary squeezed her hands. “I’ll make you some tea.” She hurried to the kettle and filled it with water at the sink. “Nancy,” she called. “Fetch some cups and get the milk and sugar.”

The child responded without question, sensing the urgency in her mother’s voice.

“Drink it all,” she urged Annie. “I’ve made it sweet for you.” Annie gulped down the liquid between quiet sobs. “Tell me what’s wrong,” she asked Annie softly. “And don’t tell me you made Alex beat you like this, ’cause I don’t believe you.”

Annie’s eyes were almost lifeless as she met those of her sister. “I’m a liar, Mary,” she begun. “You don’t know the half of it.”

Mary stroked her hand. “Then tell me,” she repeated. “Tell me the truth.”

Annie felt tears begin to burn the rim of her eyes again. “You’ll hate me too, if I tell you.” “No I won’t. I’d never hate you, Annie, never.” Annie took as deep a breath as her emotions would allow. “The baby I’m carrying,” she said, “Isn’t my first.” She gripped Mary’s hands, fearful that if she let them go, she’d lose her sister forever. “You weren’t the only one to give birth to Billy’s child.” Mary’s eyes sought to understand the statement. “Before he left for Scotland,” she continued. “I too was with child to him.”

Mary allowed the words to sink into her brain. “I don’t understand…” she began.

Annie held a finger to her lips. “Sshhhhh, let me go on.” Mary pulled Nancy closer to her as she listened to Annie’s tale.

“And since Bella’s letter…”

(More on Monday.)